My pen’s tip belaboured the paper,
Letting the ink seep into its deep pits.
It transfixed the pages to form fatuous words,
It engulfed the white in its blue blood.
The words, as though rising from the dead,
Stood up with toil and asked me a question.
Blue eyes, bleeding, dyeing their cheeks,
One whispered: “We have what he seeks.”
Redness dripped from my eyes
Onto the paper but swallowed by the blue.
“Your utterances are orphans without valour,
Your attempts, soulless; who are you?”
Their interrogation, feeble in its true sense,
Asked the mighty, the great, who he was.
The first ones to ever look me in the eye,
Unescorted by fear eating their eyeballs away.
The record behind me abruptly stopped,
My ears tried grabbing the melody lurking in the air.
My eyes listened to what these words had to say,
The ones staring at me with glaring rage.
They slowly wrapped their hand-like parts
Around my neck; their thumbs were on my apple.
I let them do whatever ran through their blue neurons,
I deserved nothing more/less than their determined grapple.
~Tanishq Khurana, Class-12, DPS RK Puram
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